My Resolution
by EmeraldEyez1728
Summary: It's strange now that i think about how it happened. I think it started when my broom sort of...slipped out of my hand and sort of...hit her. [KatieOliver], quite funny please Read and Review.Happy New Year, readers! oneshot


**A/N: Alright so it's nearing New Years and…well I just had to. Please read and review because…well I'd love you forever if you did. Also this is my first Katie/Oliver fic—I deal almost exclusively in Lily/James, but I felt that I needed to liven things up a bit so please be kind. **

**ETA: I have re-written this. Just a bit, not really a lot, but Oliver sort of bugged me in certain places, so I fixed it up. So this is actually version 2.0, whatever, hope it's semi-better. Also to mariyaweasley…um, I didn't say that this was the _only _Katie/Oliver fic, just that it was my first (if you'll read the authors note above, which I haven't changed). Sorry to…offend you, I suppose?—enough to get an angry review. **

**My Resolution**

**Oliver**

It's rather strange now that I think about it. The way it happened. I'd never stayed over the holidays before this year—my 7th. The castle seems much larger when you have the majority of the students missing. It's weird to walk around the hallways and realize that your footsteps are alone. Normally I always have someone beside me.

Right now? Now I'm headed down to the Quidditch Pitch.

It's New Year's Eve and nearing midnight. Everyone that stayed is in the Common Room celebrating at the unofficial, but annual New Year's Eve Gryffindor Party. I have to say, our house is the only house that throws such legendary parties. Mostly because Fred and George always manage to get Honeydukes sweets and Hogsmeade Butterbeer (that I'm convinced is spiked with Firewhisky because damn, during last year's Quidditch post party I got the world's worst hangover), just in the nick of time. I'm never sure how they do it. It's a bit depressing, actually. I've always wondered about it, but they just tap their noses and go "Nope Oli, we'll never reveal our secrets."

Well, as you can imagine, the only thing I like about that statement is the absolutely adorable little pet name.

…

Don't give me that look, that was a sarcastic statement. Sarcasm. Anyway, I'm assuming that the pet name originates because we're all on the same team together and it's their weird little term of endearment.

I hope so, anyway.

Okay, we're getting into a weird area, moving on.

Although, they do admit from time to time that they adore my Scottish accent. They claim that I make such long speeches in the locker room because I am aware of their admiration and simply want them to pine for me.

They're joking of course (again, I hope), but they're kind of right; I like the sound of my own voice.

Wow I'm easily amused. Seventeen years old and I like talking to myself. Is that healthy?

Well, regardless of it all (I'm going to have a talk with Fred and George lately, analyzing past behavior is beginning to creep me out) I've just had a lot on my mind lately. Flying helps me think about things. Clear my head. Get fresh air. Even though it's January and I'll freeze my balls off flying in the dead of night in January. Now that I think about what I'm about to do, it actually seems quite disturbing. Flying around alone on the pitch at midnight, freezing my balls off, which I believe would be a bonus to add to the creepiness. So I'm a cold creep. That's a cool title I guess. It has alliteration.

Oh wait! No! Never fear. I might not freeze my balls off! Score! Because you see, I was smart enough to put on a jumper that I just realized was there!

Alright I'm not sure which was sadder, the fact that I just realized what I put on in the way of clothing, or the fact that I'm so smug about remembering to put on a bloody jumper in the middle of winter.

Like I said, I've got a lot on my mind.

That's just another thing that I'll ponder later. When I'm out on the Pitch. It can be one of the things I ponder about as I'm flying around possibly freezing my balls off because the jumper I put on happens to be quite small and conveniently not cover all it is intended to cover.

So yeah, back to the party. I have a point to make about why I am electing to go first to the Quidditch Pitch and "clear my head" instead of get drunk off my arse like all irresponsible Gryffindors this New Year. Even with _her_ there. Man, she'll be the life of the party, I reckon.

I don't know why, but I wasn't up to it this time. I didn't want to go to the legendary Gryffindor New Year's Party. I mean, honestly, who needs the head-pounding music, the drink and sweets, and of course…well _she_ stayed over the holidays as well.

…

Yeah, so I'll probably go down later.

But for right now, I need to be at the Pitch. Oh! I can rehearse what I'll say to her!

No, ignore that statement. I don't need to rehearse what I'll say to some bird. I'm Oliver Wood for God's Sake. I…need to calm down about this whole situation.

But then again, she's not just _some bird_.

Perhaps going over a few bullet points in my mind—you know, just so that I have conversation starters—might not be the worst idea I've ever had. So yeah, that's on my list of things to contemplate while I'm down at the Pitch.

I think there's a spot on the Hogwarts' grounds for everyone. For me, it's at the Quidditch Pitch. For most, it's the Astronomy Tower, but I find that spot so terribly clustered—everyone's up there. Always. Honestly you can't get one moment of peace up there ironically. For a place that's supposed to be forbidden except for classes, it's almost always occupied—and not for studying if you understand what I mean. I think last year it was Fred and George's brilliant idea to pass out a sign-up sheet for times that the Astronomy Tower could be occupied--that actually ended quite violently when two sixth years went at it for the nine thru eleven shift.

I took my broom with me on this little rendezvous. I look sort of stupid walking down the deserted corridors with a broom in hand and my old jumper that my mum gave me. The jumper alone makes me look ridiculous because it's two sizes too small so I have to roll up the sleeves and pretend I'm going for some cool new fashion statement in order for it to look semi-acceptable by today's standards.

Ah, sod it. Who cares? I'm rolling down the sleeves.

…

And now I'm rolling them back up because I just caught a glimpse of myself in the window and I am fully ashamed of my outfit. I'm glad I'm alone. I wouldn't want anyone to see me like this. The jumper looks like it would belong to a five year old—the end comes up to half of my stomach. It makes it look like it's a belly-shirt, revealing a bit of the red polo I have on underneath it--actually revealing _half_ of the red polo I have on underneath it.

Do they make belly-jumpers?

That'd be a sad day for all of society, I must admit.

I tug on the collar. It's choking me. Stupid jumper.

I give my reflection an over exaggerated wink and a jazzy spin-move that made me look almost too gay to mention. It's out of spite, please note.

I'm just glad that no one can see me in this pitiful state. Nope. Not one sole.

"Oliver?"

Oh, bugger me.

I turn around, a bit too quickly.

And my broom goes flying out of my hand.

Of course.

And it flies into my unexpected company.

So great, this is absolutely brilliant.

Not only am I looking like the stupidest sod you've ever seen, but I've just accidentally assaulted someone when they innocently called my name. With my broom as my weapon of choice. How lovely. This is turning out to be a great start to the New Year.

"Bugger."

Hmm, I curse a lot. I should really work on that. New Year's resolution number one.

"Ow."

"Bugger."

So far I'm not doing too well on my resolution. Sod it, the New Year doesn't start till midnight.

"Ow."

"Are you okay?"

No you great prick, of course they're not _okay_. They're on the bloody floor saying "ow". Is that any hint to their condition? They're going to say the obvious answer—no--and make you look even stupider than you already do—which you have just currently proved is possible. Way to go.

"Er…yeah."

Oh alright, just kidding then.

The muffled voice then proceeds to say, "I'll survive."

Well, there's some assurance. Good. Mysterious person that I've completely flung my broom at and knocked arse first onto the cold corridors on New Year's Eve will survive.

Well, no actually, that assurance, I've decided, isn't good enough. Because, honestly, we'll all _survive_. Unless of course the Apocalypse decides to happen which just totally completes my holiday benefits. Here's to a lousy Christmas and a Crappy New Year, children. You'll all die within the next twenty-four hours. That's bloody lovely. Well, either that or unless Lord Voldy-shorts decides to impose war within the next five minutes, which again would top my already wonderful evening. And as far as my luck is going, it could very well happen.

I tug on my jumper. Stupid jumper.

Oh! Right! There's some nameless person lying on the floor about ten feet away from me. I haven't offered to help them up yet. I should probably do that. It's only polite.

"Here, let me help you up."

See what a Good Samaritan I am? I'm amazing. It's fact as previously stated. I'm not bullshitting you.

So that cursing resolution….

"Yeah, thanks."

And that's when I look down to see who I've knocked over.

Sod the world. Voldy, now would be a great time to kill me.

It's _her._

* * *

**Katie**

So I admit, this is a bit…weird. I've absolutely no idea what actually prompted me to do this. My inner stalker told me it was a good idea.

Why are you looking at me like that? What? Am I the only one that does stuff like this?

Well, bugger it all now, I'm here anyway.

He's walking along in a…belly shirt? No, that must be a jumper--it's too thick to be a belly shirt.

…

Belly jumper?

No, that's a completely ridiculous notion.

Well, whatever, his shirt goes down longer than his jumper does and that's ridiculous as well, so it could very well be a belly-jumper.

He just stopped to—check himself out in the window? …Yes, that's what he's doing. He's checking himself out in the window.

…So the word I'm looking for here is...Anyway, I'm a bit ashamed that I actually listened to my inner stalker. I don't normally just to let you know. I don't think that I stalk people on a regular basis—him especially. Outside of Quidditch Practice, I'm almost too shy to talk to him. He's a seventh year. A Seventh Year. If I haven't made myself clear, that makes him seventeen. Which makes him two years older than me. He was already living for two full years when I was born. Two years. He was probably already speaking in fractured and broken English (or Scottish because, as we all know, he has that damn sexy accent that I bet he acquired while he was at a young infant/toddler age, but then 'Scottish' isn't really a language, is it?). And then there was me, crying away and having other people change my Huggies Diapers.

Not that I was aware of what type of diaper brand I had, but my parents were muggleborn so probably Huggies.

Maybe Snuggles?

No, no, definitely Huggies. Huggies "moves" with the baby. My parents would want me to move comfortably. They love me. After all, Huggies fits so well and, to top it off, it has leak-fighting protection and—

I'm going to stop shamelessly advertising for bloody baby diapers now. Cripes.

So I'm sort of following him. Not to stalk him, per se, but…well my curiosity got the best of me.

Fred and George tried to get me to stay at the party, but I'll go later. I'll just say I had to…I don't know, go to Hogsmeade and buy "feminine products".

I love how evil that is. Have you ever noticed how much members of the male gender tend to shy away whenever the mention of "feminine products" comes up? Works like a bloody charm, I swear. If you're ever on a bad date, take it from me—just tell him that you've got cramps and BAM, you're out of it. He'll literally get all jumpy and start saying "am I getting you home fast enough?" and stuff like that.

And the obvious answer here would be "Well I'm not bloody dying, but yes, your pace is extremely appreciated—although whether it's deliberately fast because you're afraid of the Menstruation Monster or because you're genuinely concerned about me, I'll never know." Why? Because you're sure as hell not getting a second date out of that guy willingly. You screwed yourself over at the mention of your period.

Although that's what you wanted in the first place, am I right? It's just much easier than faking food poisoning in my opinion, so—well use stuff to your advantage.

Alright, he just winked at his reflection and did some choreographed spin move that I'm sure he took out of a video somewhere. Now he's starting to scare me. Perhaps now is the best time to announce my presence.

"Oliver?"

Yeah I'll never sneak up on him again. I've learned my lesson.

But seriously, don't you think that the broom-throwing was a bit much? I mean if he had to ward off scary hallway monsters, he could, but other than that I see no reason to carry on throwing brooms at unsuspecting people.

As you can tell I'm a bit peeved right now. Why? _Because I just got hit with a bloody broom and he's not doing a damn thing about it!_

No, I correct myself. The first thing he says is, "Bugger."

And he continues to stand there.

"Ow," Is what I come up with the second time. I realize that it's not exactly an original conversation starter, but the boy should be my knight in bloody armor here and come and save me (if he does I'll ignore the fact that he was the one that injured me in the first place). Or at least help me up.

"Bugger."

Seriously? We're repeating ourselves now? Is that really what we're doing? My face has been completely dented, but we're _repeating ourselves?_

So, I repeat myself. "Ow."

Oliver, the 'ow' is an indication of 'I'm hurt'.

"Are you okay?" is the next comment that comes out of his mouth.

Well, at least he's concerned enough to ask. It's a dumb question, but he's concerned enough to ask. I'll humor him.

"Er…yeah."

There's this great pause on his end, and so I proceed to say "I'll survive." You know, as a bit of assurance because I'm quite sure the boy is lost in either anaphylactic shock or in his thoughts.

I'm going with option number two.

He actually looks…no. is he…? Yeah he is! What a prat! He actually looks unsatisfied with that answer.

…regardless though, he's _my _prat.

NO no no I did _not_ just say that. Ugh. I sound like that irritating fourth year Lavender Brown. All she does is gush like that about boys.

She did it once about Oliver. It was nauseating.

Although, who can blame her? He _is_ dead sexy and—

NO. I must _not_ have thoughts like _that_ about _Oliver_. Let me refresh my oddly tainted brain. Oliver is my _friend._ Oliver is my _teammate_. Oliver is my _bloody effing Captain._

Oliver is _my _bloody effing Captain.

No! Stop it stop it stop it! You see, that's been happening to me for a while now. It's like…like this bad candy that I just can't stop chewing. It's addicting. He's addicting.

Well, not literally. Firstly I can't chew him and secondly whenever I'm around him I don't have to worry about my carb-intake. Also, he's not like a drug or anything, I just thought it'd be a great metaphor because really that's how I feel and—

I should stop talking.

About him, anyway.

Alright so yeah, I'm on the floor right now and I'm…ow-ing, which, as we all know, is the greatest comment one can make in intellectual conversation.

He's about ten feet away tugging on his jumper.

…Are you planning on helping me up?

"Here, let me help you up."

_There_ you go. See what a Good Samaritan he can be? He can be amazing.

When he wants to be.

When he's pushed into it.

"Yeah, thanks."

So, he almost speed walks over and he offers me his hand. And that's when he looks down at me with his hazel eyes.

And he gets this look that contorts his face. I smile uncertainly at him.

…Is it just me or does he look like he wants to kill himself?

**

* * *

**

**Oliver**

Oh sweet Merlin. Oh sweet Merlin. Oh sweet Merlin. Oh sweet Merlin.

Katie Bell. I knocked over Katie Bell with my broom! I _injured her_!

Oh sweet Merlin.

I practically throw myself on the ground with the urgency to help her up. I need to help her up! Stop acting like an idiot!

Ah.

Yeah.

I probably shouldn't have thrown myself on the floor…because now I'm sort of on top of her. Which is a little awkward and I think I freaked her out a little.

"What are you doing?"

Okay I think I freaked her out a lot.

"Uh…helping you up?"

I hope my smile won her over.

"Um, are you in pain?"

Yeah, remember when I told you 'I hope my smile won her over'? Like five seconds ago? Yeah, I won't try that anymore.

"Um no, no. Uh are you?"

She smiles. I love it when she does that. It's so gorgeous.

"Hmm well I was just smacked by a broom, thrown onto the floor and now you're on top of me. I'm thinking no, I'm pretty dandy. " But she smiles even more.

I'm a little mesmerized by her smile so I sort of lay on top of her just to look at it for a little while longer.

That probably wasn't so smart because I'm probably causing her more pain than she's already experiencing.

I should get off her.

Any minute now.

Just a little while longer.

Stop smiling, dammit! I can't concentrate on your smile _and_ get off of you. _You know how bad men are with multitasking!_

"Um, should we get off the floor now?"

No.

"Yeah, probably." I smile one more time, but I think that this time it doesn't come off as if I'm in pain.

"Are you sure you didn't hurt yourself, you know when you—er—fell on me?"

Ugh, I can't get _anything _right today, can I?

"Yeah, I'm sure. Here." And I take her hands—God, they're small—in mine and help her up.

So we're up.

"Hi."

Wow, I am _excellent _with conversation today.

She smiles back at me. "Hi."

"Um, so wh-what are you doing here?" I ask, trying not to look at her smile for fear of becoming incoherent again. Good, Oliver, you're now forming actual sentences. You know, things that are _more than one word_. Brilliant. I think I'm really improving.

Now she's got this cute pink tint that's coming to her cheeks. I love it when her cheeks get a pink tint. She tries to hide it behind her hair. I don't know why. I think it's adorable. She looks exactly like she does after Quidditch Practice—so windswept and –

And this has _got _to stop. She would never have feelings for me. As far as she's concerned, I'm just her friend. Her teammate. Her bloody effing captain.

God. I hate that.

"Um, I was actually hoping to catch you," she mumbles. She looks down at the floor and looks almost…embarrassed? So I decided to throw humor in there, just to lighten the mood.

"Catch me at what? I'm not doing anything wrong," I gave her shifty eyes. She laughed. It was terrible humor, but I made her laugh. I smiled, not because I thought I was funny but because I love making her smile and she laughed! That, as we all know is an upgrade from laughing. It's like smiling's better looking cousin and—dammit! Stop it!

She looked up at me with bright blue eyes. I'm assuming that since she didn't ask me if I was constipated or if I was in pain, this smile actually turned out to be pretty decent looking.

"So um, why aren't you at the New Year's party?" I asked her.

She shrugged. "I didn't feel like it, you know? I just…I don't know, I really wanted just a quieter New Year's than they had planned."

I looked at her with suspicion. "You really didn't want to go to the party?"

"No," she shook her head. Wisps of hair came loose from her ponytail. I brushed them behind her ear. She smiled again and it was my turn to look down at the floor. I have a limit, I figured out. I can't look at her for more than five seconds without becoming paralyzed. Oh, and the rambling, we can't forget that side effect. "I've stayed over the holidays ever since I was in third year, so I've gone there for the past two years. It's always the same. I just wanted something," I picked my head up and looked in her eyes again "different."

_I'm different. _

It almost made me want to whine. I do not whine! I'm a seventeen year old man for Christ's sake!

_But why can't I have her?_

…

Shut up, that was a manly whine. Manly! Full of…testosterone and stuff….

Ugh.

"What about you?"

"Hmm?" I looked at her again and...damn her eyes. Those ice blue eyes. They're…gorgeous. What was the question again?

"What are you doing down here, anyway?"

That's it.

"I'm…" I searched for an explanation. I could say _I'm acting all creepy and going outside just to fly around in the dead of night_ but somehow that just didn't sound sexy enough, which is (I guess) what I was going for. "I'm…working on my resolutions."

She grinned and nodded. "I should probably do that."

"What, you? How could you possibly make yourself any better?"

God, please don't tell me I said that out loud.

"Believe me, it's possible."

"No, you're modest."

What are you doing?! Stop vomiting up words! What is wrong with you!?

"You're sweet."

And she touched my arm.

…she touched my arm.

Her hand was on my arm.

Hehe It tingles a little bit.

Oh for the love of Merlin, I didn't just giggle, mentally or not.

"Did you just giggle?"

Alright, guess that it was…not.

"Um no, I just…chuckled, is all."

Great cover. I could have just said "no I'm having a spasm in my vocal cords, nothing to worry about," but no I had to go all poofy and say I _chuckled_.

God, I despise that word. Chuckle. It sounds like he name of a clown. An irritating clown that has been kicked in the balls multiple times by unsatisfied five year olds because they haven't given them the right balloon animals for their birthday parties, but still manages to have on that idiotic smile and demand the overpriced payment at the end of the day.

I'm sorry, I had a bad child-hood experience with a clown once.

Hey, she's still got her hand on my arm. I looked down at it. She looked down too and…

Took it away like she was burned.

I miss it.

Come back, Katie's arm.

* * *

**Katie**

Alright so I'll admit it. I like Oliver. I really, really like him. He makes me laugh. He makes me feel…safe. I love that feeling. I love hi—

Whoa, Katie not so fast. I'm fifteen. What do I know about love?

I know that I love _him_.

No. Stop.

He's one of those unattainable toys that you pass by in the toy store as a child and think "Oh my parents would never get that for me. They'd think it's too expensive."

But what the parents don't know is that you go by that toy store every day and just look at what you can't have.

This indescribable feeling of longing spreading over you.

But what I do know is that I love who I am when I'm around him.

So after having him lying on top of me and completely embarrassing myself to boot, I'm touching his arm.

Touching his arm.

Pins and needles shoot up my own arm and I realize that I've left it there too long. After explaining to me that he was "chuckling" and not doing something completely out of the question for a seventeen year old of his stature, like giggling, he looks down at it.

I remove it too quickly.

"Anyway," I start, wanting to get away from this uncomfortable silence that has elapsed over us. "I saw you heading off with your broom and thought I'd join you."

"But you have no broom," he says. I look down in my bare hands. Too true.

Idiot.

"I'll use one of the school's brooms," I recover smoothly. He smirks at me. Stop smirking, you loser, you were just giggling. We're even.

"No," he says.

No?

"What?"

"I said no." he steps closer to me and I can feel my cheeks getting pinker again. He smiles a gorgeous smile and looks at me with his hazel eyes. "Those brooms are rubbish. I can't let you ride one of those."

I roll my eyes. "Yeah? Then what am I going to ride? I honestly don't feel like going all the way back upstairs to get the stupid broom and then having to endure Fred and George's questioning of 'where're you going, Kat?' and other things like that."

He stepped closer. "You'll just have to ride with me then, won't you?"

Cheeky seventeen year olds.

"Aren't you going to be a bit cold?" I ask surveying his…attire.

He grins sheepishly. Then he squirms out of the jumper—it must have been quite uncomfortable—and he hands it to me. "Here. You will be too."

It was true. I was only wearing a t-shirt and jeans.

I took it gratefully and put it on. "C'mon," he said, starting towards the doors.

And I followed.

* * *

**Oliver**

She took my jumper.

It'll probably fit her better anyway.

I don't care if I'm freezing my balls off. I'm going to be flying with her. And I've got to be honest with myself, if she was the least bit cold, I'd tear off my own skin (as gruesome as it sounds) to make her happy.

Although it'd frighten me a tiny bit if she would be happy wearing someone else's skin as protection from the cold. Sort of like that Muggle movie where the killer uses the victim's skin as a mask.

Yeah, so that's a little weird is my point, but I would make the sacrifice for her.

Oh sod it, I'm never going to be with her and that's the end of it.

But that doesn't mean I can't still think about her.

I do love loopholes.

So she's walking beside me, arms folded comfortably across her chest and—

And what the hell am I doing?

Can I ask?

What on earth am I doing?

_Why haven't you stopped me you damn…conscience?! God, kick in why don't you?!_

Think of how horribly awkward this will be. I have no idea _NO IDEA _what I am getting myself into.

And at this point I honestly don't give a damn.

We get onto the Pitch and I just can't concentrate on anything but her. How she looks in the moonlight as she faces me. Gorgeous. It gives her an eerily glow, almost an unearthly beauty.

But the pink tint in her cheeks hasn't gone away.

"So what now?" she asks as she looks up at the fifty foot gold hoops that we both know so well and the immense sky that I would love to fly off into and never return.

"We fly."

So I get on.

And so does she.

I've discovered something that you might find amusing. When you're holding onto the waste of someone you really think that you could fall in love with at 11:47 exactly (I had my watch on, it is New Year's after all), and you're watching the moonlight as you're climbing higher into the sky, you realize something.

It's not the least bit cold up there.

* * *

**Katie**

I'm clutching onto the broom head with Oliver behind me, as we take the broom higher and higher. I feel like we could get to the moon and still not be quite high enough. That's one of the things that I know we both share—a love of flying.

And now, we're so far up that the normally extravagantly huge golden hoops look as small as snitches.

That's when we leveled off and we just…watched the moonlight that casts its beautiful reflection over the lake.

"You said you were working on your resolutions," I brought up his earlier excuse for being out so late. "What are they?"

"That, Miss Bell, will remain my secret."

"C'mon," I prod. "You tell me yours and I'll tell you mine."

"No."

"Why?"

I have to admit; normally people are always curious to hear my resolutions. I'm a bit hurt here, I really am.

"Because that's not a fair trade at all," he explains.

"Why would you say that?"

"Because yours aren't as good as mine."

Gee, thanks you conceited git.

My conceited git.

"You seem quite sure of yourself."

"Oh, I am."

"Why do you think that your list is better than mine?" I turn my head to look at him. He looks down at me.

"Because mine actually deal with self-improvement," he answered. Why do I feel like there's more to that answer than he's letting on?

"And you think mine don't?" I ask of his presumptions. Hell, one of mine is to stop biting my bloody nails, that's a resolution that deals with self-improvement.

"No. I told you," and he adopts this whisper, as if it's a secret that the desolate sky can't know "there's no way you can be improved."

And I smile, feeling that stupid effing sodding pink tint coming back.

And he smiles back.

* * *

**Oliver**

"So, what are they?" she continues to pry onto my personal list.

"Nope," I'm a stone wall. I shall not bend to the female's whim! I won't, I won't, I won't! Take that, Miss Bell.

No matter how much she tries to entice me, I won't be broken. I'm a wall, after all.

Hey that rhymed!

Not only am I a wall, I'm a _rhyming_ wall.

"Come on," she whines. Ha! See? I'm not the only whiner here tonight. "Give me your top five things and I'll tell you my list."

Okay.

NO WAIT! Remember, you're a metaphorical wall! A wall dammit!

"Yeah, alright."

Oh, forget it. I'm a blanket. A soft, cuddly and bendable blanket with a short attention span, a rhyming ability, and a tendency to not stick to their blankety goals.

"Number five—stick to my goals more."

See? But I'm good. At least I'm optimistic. At least I _set _worthwhile goals.

This resolution made Katie laugh. I threw her a slightly put-off look. What? I amuse you now? I'm making you laugh? Like a comic? I don't want to be a comic I want to be a very serious...political personality instead of a friggen comedian.

What? Alright I don't really want to go into politics for my future career, but they were the most boring people I could think of.

I'm actually planning on going onto play Quidditch for a living, but that's beside the point.

"What's so funny?"

"No, it's just…well that's sort of the point of resolutions, isn't it? Sticking to the goal?"

"Yeah, so two birds with one stone," I shrug. She laughs.

"Bit lazy of you, isn't that?"

"Ah, well see that's actually Resolution number 4: Stop being such a lazy sod. Now if you'd just hush up and stop being such a bloody mind-reader, I might finish the list that you were so keen on listening to in the first place."

"Alright," she laughs but throws her hands up in surrender. "Sorry, continue please."

"Good," I said with authority that made her burst out into more melodic laughter. "Now resolution number three is to stop cursing so often."

"Cursing whom, might I inquire?"

"You know, Slytherins, the world, my awkward misfortune, our bloody Seeker because he can't keep his arse on the broom long enough to finish a game and win us the Quidditch Cup because he has to be a bloody hero and go off saving the world and defeating Lord Voldykins who didn't have a good childhood and is now bent on world domination all the time."

Katie smiled playfully. "You can't blame Harry for being who he is. It must really…well to put it bluntly, suck for him actually."

"I know, it's just that that little hero is our best Seeker yet. He could help us win the bloody trophy if he wasn't in and out of the hospital wing every bloody game that matters. First he's out for getting some big red rock, next Minerva cancels the bloody tournament for fear that we'll all be bloody paralyzed by some huge snake that thinks it owns the place, and then his broom smashed up against a tree with some serious anger-management issues and he freaks out because of Dementors that come and are like, "I want you Harry" but Harry's all, "No, don't make me faint." But, regardless, I love the boy and god dammit he's a good Quidditch player."

"Are you finished?"

"Not quite. That tirade brings me onto resolution number two: win the Quidditch world cup. It's my last year…I just… want it to count this time."

"I understand," Katie says. "By the way, you make the Dementors sound like some sort of pedophile."

"Did I?"

"Yes, it was quite creepy actually."

"Oh well I'm sorry if I made it sound like the Dementors wanted to molest Harry. Although—"

"No," she cut me off "No 'although'. Let's definitely not talk about that. At all. Ever. Alright? Alright."

"Alright, you're right." I agree with her. She smiles at me.

"So, what are yours?"

"Mine are pretty useless actually," she admitted.

"Aha. See? I told you, there's really no way to improve you. You're completely impeccable."

"Well anything completely pales in comparison to that lovely list. It's outstanding that you could think of things like that."

"I try."

"Yeah well if we were all a bit more like Oliver Wood, the world would be a better place."

"Nah."

"Why 'nah'?"

"Because the world wouldn't be able to handle that much charm and charisma and beauty and—"

"Modesty?"

"Yes that too, modesty. It'd probably be overwhelming."

"Yeah, I'm sure that you'd bring on the next Apocalypse."

"Yes, well, anything's possible, I imagine."

We pause for a little while and she shies away from the subject of her resolutions.

"It's beautiful up here," Katie observes breathlessly, her eyes searching the sky. She sort of relaxes and her body rests against my chest. She's got her head on my shoulder and I swallow a hard lump that has formed strangely in my throat.

"Yeah," I agree. "Beautiful."

She doesn't have to know that we were talking about very different sights.

* * *

**Katie**

I'm leaning against his shoulder and it just feels…right. It's comfortable and not awkward at all. It felt so good.

"Is it scary for you?" I ask him. "Knowing you won't come back here next year."

"I'll miss it," he admits. His hands are placed comfortably over mine and he rests his chin on my own shoulder. "I'll miss a lot of things about this place."

"What are you going to do when you get out of here?"

"Well, I've always fancied myself a decent Quidditch player. Maybe…I don't know, maybe I could pick that up…for a profession."

"It's going to be hard."

"I'm always up for a challenge."

Don't I know it.

"So what'll you miss about Hogwarts?"

He takes a minute to respond. "Everything," he comes out with. "Everything and everyone."

"Everyone?" I quirk an eyebrow.

"Well…some more than others."

I'll miss him more than anyone else.

I want to be the _some_ in that sentence.

"What's on your mind, right now?"

"That's an interesting question, Katie. Quite deep for you."

Really? I thought it was a rather simple question.

"What's the matter, Wood? Can't hold your breath long enough to get down to where I like to swim?" I ask playfully. He…chuckles (because as we all know, a strapping seventeen year old man is incapable of giggling).

"Yeah, that's the reason."

And he doesn't elaborate. So I keep quiet and lean up against him.

We stay that way.

And then it came. Midnight.

The only reason we were aware of the time was because Fred and George and rigged a bunch of Filibuster Fireworks to set off from the roof of Gryffindor Tower, proclaiming "Happy New Year" in bright colors that illuminated the sky.

We watched the display, our eyes wide, taking it all in.

He gripped my hands tighter and we flew just the slightest bit higher, leveling off yet again. Right in the middle of all the action.

But instead of feeling the smallest bit freaked out because we were in the middle of firework explosion sight, I felt—amazed. Safe. Overjoyed.

I felt like I always do when I'm around him.

I felt the opposite of what I should—but I liked it. I loved it.

I loved the feeling, I love how I was, how he was, how we both reacted to everything that was happening around us. I felt like I was his. And I loved feeling that way.

"You never told me what your number one resolution was," I say in a low tone that he miraculously heard over all the noise as the fireworks went off around us.

My hearing wasn't as good as his. He mumbled something that I couldn't understand. Although, looking back now, maybe he did that on purpose.

"What?"

And then he did something I wasn't expecting.

Without worrying about it, without knowing that below, all the party-goers had gathered outside just to watch the idiots that were on the broom in the middle of the firework display, without caring about what I might do and how I might react, he swooped down and kissed me.

I fell into it. I fall into a lot of things concerning him, I realize, but this kiss was one that I wanted to melt into.

When the two of us finally pulled away mutually (for lack of air), he smiled at me.

"My number one resolution was: Stop falling in love with Katie Bell. But I've decided to completely remove that one from the list, as it would conflict with number five. Because, you see, that's one goal that I just…can't keep. And I know it."

I search his hazel eyes with my blue ones.

"So what's your number one now?"

He kisses me once more and pulls away with a cheeky smile.

"Make her fall in love with me."

**X-X-X**

**A/N: So I just had to have some fun. I know it's not a pairing that you see too often, but I decided to try my hand at it. Happy New Years everyone. P.S. if you haven't figured it out already I love reviewers with a strong passion. **


End file.
